


Fletcher Takes Care Of a Puppy

by orphan_account



Category: Whiplash (2014)
Genre: just me thinking itd be cute, the title.. thats it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-23
Updated: 2020-10-23
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:14:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27157135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Fletcher is alone in his flat with a puppy. Neiman's fault.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 2





	Fletcher Takes Care Of a Puppy

**Author's Note:**

> I apologize if there's anything wrong with my english!! It is not my language

"Oh, my God! Why can't you do me just one favor?"

"No, Neiman, you knew the rules!" his head throbbed with increasing pain and he rubbed his dry hands across his face, as if trying to wash away the pulsing headache. He was not even able to come up with an insult. "I told you so. You could stay in my place, but no visitors, no surprises!"

" It' s just a fucking dog! You can just let it stay in there and that's it! Then I'll come and get it. I swear. I promised Mrs. Chapman!

" Why the fuck should I care about Mrs. Chapman?!"

"No. Leave the damn dog there! _Hey, I am—I am talking—no, you shut up! I am in the middle of a call!_ ”

“Nei—“, Fletcher had his lips split and ready to yell when a beep slowed down his tongue. How dare he cut off him? Leaving him locked up with a dog, more hairball than animal?

He could easily picture Neiman sneaking out from his job as a dog walker in order to go to the cinema with his father just to end up shouting at the phone throughout the whole film. The ever-tragic image of Jim's face, not knowing how to handle his son, had almost cooled his head. He was about to phone Andrew a second time when his consciousness landed in his flat in front of an alarming scene: the dog, posed on one of his cushions while one of his hind legs was held high.

"Don't you fucking—" he was about to say, however, the animal was not one of his students, or a human being, or a creature such as Neiman was, and thus he was forced to pick up the animal —so small it could fit in his hands whenever they were put into the shape of a bow— holding it up in front of him at such a distance that he could easily be holding a bomb.

He immediately ran away from his flat to the road in front of it, decorated by trees with circular foliage and guarded by neighbors who would spread your face and address if they caught you with your dog there. Fletcher didn't care, as he was already hated enough by them to mind another bit of it.

It was a warm day under a cloudy sky marked by sweltering humidity.

Once on the sacred ground, he let the animal bury his tiny snout in the healthy grass that never grew more than four centimeters, something he recognized as being of a ritualistic nature, before lifting his paw and taking a leak.

He awakened from his boredom when he found himself chuckling as he watched the animal move from its site to continue its, as one of his neighbors would say, " threat to the community" on the incipient flower bush that had just begun to germinate a few weeks earlier. He thought of the drama that would unfold in his community, and his laughter turned into a satisfied smile that was able to make him forget... Or, rather, momentarily put the situation with Neiman out of his mind.

Fletcher lay down on one of his armchairs to simply rest, which he did not use to, back in his flat —to which he had fled after one of his neighbors caught him—. Once on the cushion and letting out a sigh when he felt the touch of his back on the pillow, he was surprised by the sudden cry of the canine— which did not stop spinning in front of him.

"God, what now," almost like a response, the dog barked fiercely and threw itself into his shoes, ran with them into the kitchen, and came barking back. Was it hungry? Fletcher had no trouble deducing this; he was sure that all animals were only good for sleeping, shitting and eating.

He wasn't sure if he wanted to set foot outside again for the rest of the day, or if it was safe to do so, so he simply crawled into the kitchen, got a beer for himself from the fridge and improvised a dog food— which was really nothing more than lentils and rice.

Something puzzled him. Where was he going to feed him? He felt like a single father without clean dishes and with hungry children, except for the fact that he had clean dishes: he just didn't want to dirty them just for him to wash them again. Actually, he preferred to throw them away before letting a dog lick them. It was enough to have Neiman eating from them, since the boy had decided to make Fletcher's flat a second home: 'it will be easier to concentrate and put my things away', he had given him that as an excuse.

But he soon found a solution.

"Bon appétit," said Fletcher, returning to his seat after filling one of Neiman's shoes with the strange mixture he had improvised. He shook his beer with a self-effacing, lip-locked smile towards the dog. "And a little treat for me."

It didn't take long for the animal to devour the entire contents of the shoes and, although thanks to its energy it ended up spreading the food all over the carpet, to be able to see Neiman, on his arrival, changing his shoes just to notice the sticky and unpleasant texture of the lentils chewed on the rice... That would be worth it.

But, shaken by the image of the animal gnawing and waving the materials from Neiman's shoe... Now, that was not his intention. Not at all. He felt out of sorts, and even a little embarrassed, a strange sensation in him, when he quickly stood up to take it off its mouth.

As he made an effort and bent down, he was surprised by a tongue that raised and tasted his face. The feeling surprised him the first time. The second time, he tried to get out of the shock by taking advantage of it and moving the shoe, which had fallen to the side, to a safe place. It wasn't until he remembered what he had fed the dog that he snapped and a grimace of disgust crossed his expression.

What surprised him most was that he had not yet decided how he was feeling about it. Had it been... Adorable? Had the animal tried to get his attention?

"It's okay. That's enough. I don't care if Andrew would be angry if I tie you up outside my flat," he agreed, more for himself than for the dog, who couldn't understand him anyway.

But he did not tie him up mercilessly, nor did he lock him up or practice any act of absolute evil on him. Instead he found himself waving his hands over the dog, moving them just as he did when leading his music, and making funny faces. He was, in every way, playing with the damn animal.

He was not religious, but the thought that some saint could see him from the heavens, making a fool of himself and showing affection not to his students, his own protégé or family, but to a dog, made him feel… Dumb.

“Fletcher, I’m here.”

“Wel-fucking-come,” he grunted, opening the door just enough to let him in. The dog peeped out.

"It's cool, I know. I understand. It won't happen again, I just miscalculated my schedule," Andrew then narrowed his eyes as he saw what he thought was lick marks on Fletcher's face, which the latter quickly wiped off with his hands. "Anyway, I'll talk to Mrs. Chapman, tell her I can't look after her dog.”

“Don’t you fucking dare, Neiman.”


End file.
